They were in high glee over the predicament of one ruffian who had purchased or been given a poor, emaciated little burro that was on his last legs.

The burro evidently did not want to go with its new owner, who pulled on a halter and then viciously swung the end of the rope to make welts on the worn and scarred back.
If there was one thing that Diane Sampson could not bear it was to see an animal in pain.

She passionately loved horses, and hated the sight of a spur or whip.
When we saw the man beating the little burro she cried out to me: "Make the brute stop!" I might have made a move had I not on the instant seen Steele heaving into sight round the corner.
Just then the fellow, whom I now recognized to be a despicable character named Andrews, began to bestow heavy and brutal kicks upon the body of the little burro.

These kicks sounded deep, hollow, almost like the boom of a drum.
The burro uttered the strangest sound I ever heard issue from any beast and it dropped in its tracks with jerking legs that told any horseman what had happened.

Steele saw the last swings of Andrews' heavy boot.